Sons of Twilight and Starlight
by Soledad
Summary: After the last battle of the War of Wrath, Eönwë has a thoughtful moment. Finished.
1. Part One

**SONS OF TWILIGHT AND STARLIGHT**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.

**Rating:** PG, this time – for angst.

**Dedication:** To Ithilwen, as an excuse for the constant ranting about the Valar's behaviour in my reviews to your Maedhros-series. I hope you'll forgive me eventually.

**A SHORT INTRODUCTION**

This is only a short excerpt of what will become a later chapter of my Glorfindel story, ''A Tale of Never-Ending Love''. That chapter will explain when and how Glorfindel was given the job to support and defend Eärendil's descendants. You don't have to read the actual story to understand this one – though I would greatly appreciate if you did. ;)

This little vignette deals with the aftermath of the War of Wrath – from Eönwë's point of view (he was called the Herald of Manwë and was one of the mightiest of the Maiar, who led the Host of Valinor in the attack on Morgoth at the end of the First Age, should anyone have forgotten his name – could there be such ignorants at all???).

It was inspired by Michael Martinez' article ''Before the Númenóreans came'', which – among others – discusses the War of Wrath and why the Valar hesitated so long to launch a direct attack on Morgoth so long. Now that I have accused them with total lack of compassion many times (Ithilwen could be the witness of that), I felt the need to show the other side of the coin as well.

Just one more thing. I know there's an unspoken agreement that Glorfindel had returned to Middle-earth somewhen during the Second Age, in order to support the Elves in their war against Sauron. If there is any proof for that, then this little story is meaningless and should be considered as my imagination completely.

But if there isn't any written proof to support _that_ theory, then I find it more likely that he was sent back with the Host of Valinor – which contained armies of Vanyar, and I always considered Glorfindel as one of them – as an experienced warlord (he was in the Nirnaeth, after all, and defended Gondolin) and an expert on Balrog slaying. As far as I know, there was no other Elf who had a clash with a Balrog and returned from the death to tell the story.

Of course, this is pure speculation, and I tell it openly, before someone starts wielding the whole series of HoME against me. No, there is no proof for this. It's possible that somewhere is some proof _against_ my take. But you know what? I don't really care. This story came to me in about two hours, and it sounded just too damn good to let it go again. How often do _you_ get a story idea and a full first part of it dropped onto your lap out of nowhere? It doesn't happen that often to _me_, for sure!

So, be warned of possible canon inaccuracies, and if that bothers you, do us both the favour and hit the Back button.

Otherwise, simply read and enjoy. I hope it would be worth it.

Oh, and tell me what you think! I won't change the concept, I'm afraid, but I always welcome the insight of interested people.

Sincerely, Soledad

**PART ONE**

When the last battle was over and Thangorodrim broken and Melkor, once again, imprisoned in the Void, and even the sons of Fëanor had finally fulfilled their horrible oath that caused so unspeakable pain and so much bloodshed among the Firstborn, Eönwë finally returned to his tent and collapsed onto a leather field chair.

He was weary beyond measure. More exhausted, in fact, than any of his noble kin should ever have been. Wearing his Elven disguise had become more and more confining and burdensome with every passing year. Truth to be told, during these forty-two years of ongoing warfare he had become his first glimpse of what the passing of time truly might mean.

Sure, he was accustomed to wear a physical form, even in the Blessed Land, while dealing with Elves – they all were, and as Manwë's herald, he even more than the others of his kin. But incarnating himself without a break for such a long time – a time that he spent entirely outside the Blessed Realm – meant, that he had to nourish his body from the _hröa_ of Arda(1) – and _that_ flesh had been soaked by Morgoth's evil presence to the smallest clod, staining with it all those who had an incarnate form, shadowing their bodies (and therefore their spirits) with _His_ darkness – at least to a certain extent.

This was an effect that disturbed Eönwë greatly. The thought that part of him should be turned towards Morgoth was not a pleasant one. So he considered to spend an uncertain amount of time in Mandos' Halls after his return to Valinor, in order to cleanse and heal his spirit from Morgoth's influence. The fall of other Maiar, who had got infested with evil, showed how perilous such thing could be.

He yearned to return. The sight that offered itself his eyes was so hurtful he could barely bear it. Even marred, Arda had been the beautiful fruit of Ilúvatar's thoughts and the Music of the Ainur – but all that remained now was hardly more than smouldering ruins.

And he was the one who had been sent out to cause all this horrible destruction.

Of curse he knew that it was inevitable. When Melkor incarnated himself permanently – thus becoming Morgoth for ever, – he lost the greater part of his powers of old (those of mind and spirit; after all, he used to be second only to Manwë himself), but as an exchange, he gained a terrible grip upon the _hröa_ of Arda.

His black thoughts and evil powers soaked the very lands, were present even in the waters and the winds; they were all over and under and _in_ the Earth. Therefore, he only could be fought by physical force, which meant that any direct combat with him, victorious or otherwise, would tear the flesh of the Earth apart.

To diminish the strength of Morgoth, Eönwë had to destroy the land that was, in a sense, the extension of _His_ incarnate body.

And destroy he did.

Oh, yes, he tried to keep the destruction as limited as possible. He made his host land as far to the North as possible, as close to Angband as he could get – the closest to _His_ physical incarnation he could manage, for that was the only part of _Him_ that actually _could_ be destroyed.

He tried everything to spare Arda as much as it was within his powers. The destruction still was devastating.

The Blue Mountains were sundered, and the Golf of Lhún now cut a deep slash into the flesh of Middle-earth. Most parts of fair Beleriand sank under the Sea, and Sirion, the beautiful and beloved and often sung-about by the Elves, was no more. Gone were the vast forests of Doriath and Taur-in-Duinath, the lands of Dor-lómin and Brethil; the Isle of Balar, the last refuge of the Elves of the West sank under the towering waves, and cold waters covered the ruins of Nargothrond and Gondolin, the most wondrous Elven cities ever built east of the Sea.

Naught of what the Elves had built, created and fought for so bitterly had remained. And though Morgoth finally had been overthrown, the wounds that his defeat had torn in the flesh of Arda will never be healed again.

And knowing this, Eönwë, mightiest of the Maiar, covered his face with his hands and wept.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A good amount of time he spent alone, grieving over a beauty that shall never be again, over greet deeds that were done in vain, and great works that would be forgotten, and many lives lost uselessly, and he thought that the time of Elven spirits spent in Mandos' Halls must be spent like this: in tearing pain and deepest regret.

Then the flap of his tent was lifted, and in came Glorfindel, his own herald, wearing the rayed sun of the House of the Golden Flower on his shining breastplate; and on his broad shoulders he bore a mantel so broidered in threads of gold that it was diapered with celandine as a field in spring; and his arms were damascened with cunning gold(2).

And the weight of grief was lifted a little from Eönwë's heart, for lo! There was one who gave his life for defeating the evil and yet returned, and who now was closer to his own kin than to the Firstborn.

And Eönwë looked admiringly at the incredible beauty of the re-born Elf who had once belonged to those who opened their eyes to the newborn starlight at the waters of Cuiviénen (thinking that this must be how Oromë had looked at them in awe(3) when finding them by accident all those Ages ago), and finally he understood what always had been a mystery for him: how could Melian fall for one of the incarnates so deeply that she had left the Blessed Realm to live with him in a permanent incarnation, on an Earth that was infested with Morgoth's darkness.

For Glorfindel's hair, that had loosened in the heat of battle, shone like the undying golden light of Laurelin, and his eyes were deep midnight blue as the sky ere the Two Trees had been born, and brighter than Varda's stars at the time of his Awakening, and his skin had the slight golden hue of all those of pure Vanyarin blood, of which he had been one of the very first. And he glowed with the blinding inner fire of a hidden power, given him by Manwë and Varda themselves, after he had been clothed in flesh again, that manifested itself in the form of pure white light now that he let it burn freely in his battle-wrath.

He was definitely more than an ancient Elf now: Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer, who had faced those monsters on Oromë's side once again, and this time proved victorious – defeating even one of the winged dragons that tried to grab him from the field of battle and to tear him apart in the air. But to those who have tasted Death before, fear comes less easily than to others, and in his fierce combat Glorfindel had looked no less mighty and frightening than the dragon itself.

Now, that the combat was over and the dragons were all defeated, he returned to the tent of his warlord, to make his report as it suited a herald. And the vivid memories of that last, terrible battle reminded Eönwë of another dragon slayer – the slayer of Ancalagon the Black, who now floated high above their heads on the sky with his winged ship, shining brightly with the last remnants of the light of the Two Trees – and of a promise he so far had not been able to fulfil.

"Have you succeeded in locating the boys?" he asked, not caring that Glorfindel might see the trails of tears upon his face.

The golden Elf nodded, reaching out a slender hand and brushing away the remaining tears with his thumb. No-else would have dared to touch the Herald of the Elder King in this intimate manner, without asking, without being asked for. But few of the restrains that ruled the life of other beings bothered Glorfindel any more.

"Yes, my Lord," he said with his clear, ringing voice, and Eönwë had to think of silver trumpets by that sound, so gentle and yet powerful it was. "They are on their way here. Yet they are no children any more, and you shall have to let them make their own choice."

Eönwë leaned into his touch for a moment, allowing himself the first small weakness since the onset of this horrible war that now hopefully was over. Then he straightened, and now his eyes were alert again – though very tired.

"You believe they would refuse to come to Aman with us?" he asked.

"I cannot answer that, my Lord," Glorfindel replied, "yet it seems that the roots the Children of Ilúvatar have in Arda are deeper than the Valar ever might have thought. I strongly advice against forcing them to do aught. They have more than just Finwë's blood in them to make them strong-headed."

"Have we ever forced any of you to do aught that you would not want to?" Eönwë asked, feeling insulted and mayhap even a little hurt.

"Nay," Glorfindel answered thoughtfully, "Yet you always thought you knew better what is good for us than we do. Most of the times you were right. But not always. I only ask you to approach them with care. They are of two nature, of twilight and starlight – no-one of us can foresee what they shall do."

"I hope I have not gotten too haughty to listen to the wisdom of others, even if they are not of my kind," Eönwë smiled tiredly; "Now, is there aught else we should discuss?"

Glorfindel shook his head and gave him a fond smile. A strange little smile it was, that of a father to a frightened child. For though Eönwë certainly stood high above him like the very hills, he knew something the Maia would never know. He knew Death and the freedom that knowledge could bring.

"Nay, my Lord," he said gently, "there is naught that could not wait til later. You should rest now. As long as you are in this body, you need it, like the rest of us. Sleep now; I shall watch over you til morrow awakes."

* * * There will be two more parts of this story* * *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:******

1) The "flesh of Earth," the actual physical matter, in this case.

2) So appears Glorfindel in Gondolin when Turgon musters his armies. Why should he look less good when going to war with the Valar themselves? Quoted from "The Book of Lost Tales 2", pp 174-175.

3) In "The Silmarillion", p. 46, stays: "And Oromë, looking upon the Elves, was filled with wonder, as they were beings sudden and marvellous and unforeseen; for so it shall ever be with the Valar. From without the World, for all things might be forethought in music or foreshown in vision from afar, to those who enter verily into Eä each in its time shall be met at unawares as something new and unforetold." Why should it be different with the Maiar?


	2. Part Two

**SONS OF TWILIGHT AND STARLIGHT**

**by Soledad**

Disclaimer:

The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.

Rating: PG, this time – for angst.

**Author's notes:**

The unrequited love of Glorfindel towards Idril Celebrindal is, of course, the fruit of my own imagination. I postulated this in my Glorfindel story and stuck to it. There is no canon fact to support my idea.

Many thanks to Altariel Artanis for suggesting the name of Gildor's mother. Aratari means ''noble queen'' in Quenya, and as a Vanyar Elf (also purely my imagination) she no doubt was a very noble and queenly woman.

Inglor is, of course, the father of Gildor Inglorion, whom Frodo met in the Shire in ''Three is Company'' (FOTR). He introduced himself as someone of the House of Finrod (and he had to know, after all), so I decided that his father, Inglor, would have been born in Aman, _after_ Finrod left for Middle-earth. The canon only says that Amarië, Finrod's beloved (a Vanyar Elf as well) did not follow him. There is nothing said about if their had, indeed, married before he left. (Under certain circumstances they could have done it without the whole ceremony and in the absence of their respective families.) Again, this is non-canon theory, but at least it does not directly contradict any established canon facts, as far as I know.

**PART TWO**

Eönwë had a restful sleep on that night, mayhap the first one since the onset of the war. The needs and restrictions of a more or less permanently incarnated form still surprised and somewhat disturbed him, and he was grateful for Glorfindel's soothing presence, for the golden Elf just smiled over his more and more frequent ramblings and offered the comforting thought that soon he would be able to return to the Undying Lands and float around in his true form (as a disembodied spirit) as long as it pleased him. And Eönwë laughed at that, for in truth, he rarely shed his physical form in Aman – there was no need for that, for there a body was no burden.

So he took care of the needs of his burden, cleaning and feeding it and giving it the much-needed time to recover from the trials of the recent days, so that it could serve his purposes a little longer – ere he could return home and rest in Mandos' care for what seemed to be a very long time.

But then, there is no time in Mandos' Halls, no changes, save the slow healing of spirits from their sins and sorrows, or so Glorfindel had told him. In these barren years of war the golden Elf has become his mentor and his aide in things that referred to the lives of incarnate beings – the Firstborn above all –, and Eönwë knew that he would miss Glorfindel, should he choose to remain in Middle-earth as Inglor did, to help his own people to recover from the horrors of Morgoth's long reign.

Inglor and his wife, golden Aratari of the Vanyar, had already left, seeking out Círdan in his temporary dwellings and Ereinion son of Fingon, who now was considered High King of the Noldor, bearing the proud name of Gil-galad, the radiant star. But Glorfindel held back his decision, for it depended on the wishes of Eärendil's sons. If they wanted to go to Aman with the returning Host of Valinor, then Glorfindel would return with them. But should they choose to linger in Middle-earth, then Glorfindel would stay, too.

For once he had sworn to Idril Celebrindal to protect all her descendants til the end of Arda – and now only these two remained to be protected. So great Glorfinedl's love for Turgon's daughter had been, that he bound himself to her one-sidedly, never expecting aught in reward.

Eönwë thought that Idril was a woman blessed beyond measure, being the subject of such devotion. Even if she chose the mortal Tuor over Glorfindel – a choice that was somewhat of a mystery for Eönwë, just as the deep bonds of love that bound the Firstborn of Ilúvatar to each other were.

He was brought back from his straying thoughts by Ingwion son of Ingwë, leader of the Vanyar who made up the majority of the Host of Valinor(1) and served as Eönwë's aide during the whole war.

''My Lord'', he said in Quenya, bowing to the Maia, ''the sons of Eärendil have arrived.''

''Already?'', Eönwë asked in surprise. ''Tis has only been a day since Glorfindel located them.''

Ingwion sighed, a cloud of sorrow shadowing the faint golden shimmer of his noble face, for the deep wounds the war had cut in the flesh of Arda pained them all.

''Not much of what once used to be Beleriand has remained, my Lord. They had no long way to go, and the horses their forefathers once brought with them from Aman are still swift. Do you wish to see them at once?''

''Indeed, I do'', Eönwë said; ''and send for Glorfindel as well. I want him present while talking to those children.''

''There are children no more'', said Ingwion; ''mayhap they never truly were. Yet Glorfindel is already waiting with them outside. I shall tell them to enter.''

With these words he bowed again and left, and a moment later Glorfindel entered, still wearing his shining armor, for he had not rested in the night, having watched over Eönwë's sleep and singing to him to keep tormenting dreams away. He showed no sigh of weariness, but Eönwë felt slightly guilty nevertheless.

_I begin to feel and react like the incarnates!_, he thought with mild dismay,_ Tis time, indeed, for me to return home._

Two young Elves came in with Glorfindel, and Eönwë looked upon them with curiosity and slight surprise, realizing how right Ingwion had been a moment earlier. Everyone had always spoken of Eärendil's sons as if they had still been children – yet these two were doubtlessly well beyond their maturity.

They looked very similar, almost identical – tall and slender and dark-haired with keen grey eyes and a fair face that merged the best traits of three kins: Maiar, Elves and Men, to a harmony as-yet unknown. Not even their parents seemed this beautiful, this strong – and this vulnerable at the same time. To the naked eyes of a Men or even an Elf, there would hardly be any differences between them.

But Eönwë, whose eyes saw deeper than even those of most of his own noble kin, noticed the great difference in their auras. Elrond's, who was the older of them, had shown the unmistakable signature of Melian's spirit – something that even his mother lacked –, while Elros', the younger one, showed a cunning likeness with Tuor's, whom Eönwë had met once on that enchanted island the Valar gave him and Idril to dwell on(2). And ere they would say as much as a single word, Eönwë had already know what their choices would be like.

Yet he said naught of what he had read in their _fëa_s(3); instead he greeted the brothers kindly and said:

''Sons of Eärendil, children of Melian, I bring you the greetings and the blessings of the Valar. The Lords of the West have heard the plea of your father, and they offer you the gift that is offered to all of the Firstborn: to leave this scorched earth and come to the Blessed Real. For, to my regret, Middle-earth shall never fully recover from the wounds we were forced to slash into its flesh in order to break Morgoth's power – and the Valar lifted the bane of the Noldor and are willing to let them return to the Utmost West.''

He felt the hostility from Elros ere he finished his words. And the younger brother answered him without the slightest hesitation.

''I shall not leave Middle-earth to become the tame pet of the Valar. This earth, scorched it might be, has always been my home; and it ever shall be. I wish to remain here and help to heal its wounds, as far as they could be healed.''

Eönwë nodded. The longing to protect his land Elros not only inherited from his mortal ancestors alone. It was the legacy of Elwë Singollo as well, who remained on these shores even after he had seen the Light of the Two Trees. Also, the emissary of the Valar had to expect a certain amount of hostility from someone who had been raised Maglor son of Fëanor.

''What say you, Elrond?'', the Maia asked.

The elder brother answered not at once. Their eyes met, and where Eönwë had seen youthful brashness and bitter grief from Elros' _fëa_ – grief over the loss of his true parents, over the fate of Maglor, his foster father, whom he loved with the unconditional love of a son; over the destruction of their old home – in Elrond there were only sorrow and tormented wisdom beyond his young age… and a compassion for any being that suffered, a compassion rarely seen among the Firstborn.

''I shall stay as long as my brother stays'', he finally answererd, ''for I was born a healer and I, too, want to help the land and its people to heal.''

''But your old home is no more'', Glorfindel remainded him gently. ''Where do you intend to live, if you stay?''

''Lord Círdan and the High King both offered me a dwelling place'', Elrond answered calmly. ''I have not yet decided which offer to accept.''

''And what about you?'', Glorfindel turned to Elros.

The younger brother shrugged helplessly.

''I know not. I would prefer to live with the people of my forefathers, Beren and Tuor; yet they have no land any more, either. And they had already suffered enough for their acquaintance with the Firstborn… I wish not to cause them even more trouble.''

''Then the Lords of the West my offer you a solution that meets your wishes, after all'', Eönwë said. ''For it has been decided to reward the Atani(4) who fought on our side, with a new home, far from the perils of Middle-earth, in the neighborhood of the Undying Lands. A green island it is, deep in the far waters of the Sea, where they can live undisturbed. You may go with them and dwell among them as their King; for a son of the great leaders of Men you are, and they would have need of a King, should they build a new realm in their land of gifts.''

''If they want to live in peace, they would do better not to live under Elven rule'', said Elros bitterly. ''No good our sires has brought to Middle-earth when they returned from Aman to attack the Enemy, only blood and tears. How can any Elf ever understand the short and harsh life of mortal Men who die and are gone beyond the Rim, with no hope to be restored and sent back to the living again?''

''It seems to me that _you_ understand it well enough'', said Eönwë.

''Not well enough'', Elros replied, ''yet the blood of mortal Men burns hot enough in my veins to at least feel some of the urges and longings that drive their short lives. But to understand them fully, I would have to become one of them.''

''And you _do_ have this choice, indeed'', Eönwë answered. ''For the Valar offered this to Eärendil's children: that you are allowed to choose whether you want to remain among the Firstborn or to become like mortal Men and die and be free of the peril of fading. I cannot say what awaits Men beyond the Rim, for not even the Valar have knowledge of it, save mayhap Manwë who is let in to Ilúvatar's thoughts in all things that refer to Arda. But you _can_ make this choice – for you and all those who shall be born of your loins.''

''So if we choose, our choice lays out the fate of our children and their children til the end of Arda?'', Elrond asked quietly. ''Is this a responsibility we should be burdened to bear?''

Eönwë sighed and shook his head.

'''Tis not that simple. If you choose to remain with the Firstborn, your descendants shall have the same choice, as long as you remain in Middle-earth; for the promise has been given to you and to you alone. Then, they will have to make _their_ choice – to go with you to Aman or to stay and fade or die. But if you choose to join the kin of mortal Men, all your children and their children shall be born as mortals; for not even the Valar can take the Gift of Ilúvatar back, once it has been given.''

''Is then to die a gift?'', Elros asked with a bitter laugh. Eönwë nodded.

''It is – or so I was taught by Manwë and Varda. The Firstborn cannot perish as long as Arda remains, yet no-one knows what will be their fate after the end of Arda. Yet the _fëa_ of mortal Men shall remain for ever beyond the Rim. This much Manwë has been told in his heart, where he constantly weighs and contemplates the thoughts and plans of Ilúvatar and the faint echoes of the Music, even if no-one of us knows aught else.''

''Then if we choose differently, and one of us dies, we shall be lost for each other til the end of Arda and even beyond that?'', Elrond asked.

Eönwë remained silent for what seemed to the young Elves as a very long time.

''I cannot say'', he finally admitted. ''It might be.''

''Then 'tis a bitter choice, indeed'', said Elrond. ''In this world, twiligh and starlight can be together; yet if that should not be so after the end of Arda, how can the Valar ask us to choose the one or the other?''

''I have no answer to that'', Eönwë sighed, ''and I very much doubt that even the Valar have one, save mayhap Mandos who knows more of the matters of doom than even Manwë himself. I am only the messenger; not the one who had sent the message.''

''Then I shall wait with making my choice for a while'', Elrond said, and his brother nodded, without a further word.

''You can do that'', said Eönwë, ''for I shall linger on these shores for some more time. I have to travel and visit the remaining Elves, to bring them the message of the Valar – and it will take time for our host to return to Valinor as well. Yet as soon as _my_ ship is ready to set sail for the Utmost West, I shall have to take your answer with me, whether you choose twilight or starlight.''

''By that time we shall be ready, my Lord'', Elrond responded quietly, while his brother simply nodded again. ''Do we have your leave to return to our own people?''

Eönwë hesitated for a moment.

''Your brother is free to leave, if that is what he wishes'', he then said. ''But I want _you_ to remain with me for the time of my travels, Elrond Eärendilion. For I can feel the light of my own kin burn very brightly in you; and it is my intention to teach you how to use it.''(5)

''I yield to your wish, my Lord'', Elrond bowed, but his face was clouded with sorrow and foreboding.

''As for me'', Elros said with a tight voice, ''I shall go and find a place where I am wanted.''

''Brother!'', Elrond laid a hand upon his forearm; ''You need not to leave… We belong together, as we always have.''

''Do we?'', Elros replied bitterly. ''It seems that the choice has already been made for me. Clearly, I am not good enough to be considered your equal. It matters not. I shall find my own way – one that does not include crawling on my knees before any one.''

But Elrond grabbed his arm even more tightly, drawing him into a strong embrace.

''Leave me not in bitterness, little brother'', he murmured.

'''Tis not you I am bitter with'', Elros replied, returning the hug. ''Yet it seams that our paths will part here and now. It was inevitable, from the very beginning. No matter how alike we look, we always have been different. We have been growing apart for a very long time. Tis only the final step we have to do.''

''Have we?'', Elrond whispered. His brother nodded, sadly.

''We have. Or else we shall never be free from the shadows of our past and the guilt we shared – the guilt that we survived when so many were slain and that we grew up in the house of the one who had slain them. We have been the sons of Maglor for too long – you out of necessity and I for I never knew aught else(6). Mayhap now that he is gone and with him every thing that remained from the past, we might be freed and find our own place under the Sun.''

He looked at Eönwë, at Glorfindel and then at his brother, nodding to them as they stood staring back. Then without a word, he turned and walked past, disappearing from the tent of the Maia.

The silence in his wake was deafening. Only when the far clap of the hooves of his horse broke it, were the others able to breathe again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

***Originally, I wanted to end this short story here. But Eönwë still had some issues to deal with, so I promised him to write a short epilogue.***

End notes:

See Michael Martinez: It's all in the family: the Elwëans and Ingwëans Since Tuor was a mere mortal, Michael Martinez assumes that the Valar might have given him and Idril a place to live where he would not age and die. There is no proof for that, however. Soul or spirit of an incarnate being. The plural of Edain, the people of Beleriand who sided with the Elves against Morgoth's evil. Michael Martinez postulates in one of his articles about the Last Alliance, that Elrond had been somehow enhanced by Eönwë, without going into further detail. I thought such a thing would explain his ability to use Vilya to hold back the fading of Elves in and around Imladris. That and his partially Maian heritage – both of which would explain why his children would only remain immortal as long as he stayed in Middle-earth. The Lost Road states that Elrond and Elros were twins. All other sources that I know only say that they were brothers. I adopted here Deborah's theory that Elrond was a few years older than Elros and accepted Maglor's foster care because he was not able to care for his baby brother alone. 


	3. Epilogue

**SONS OF TWILIGHT AND STARLIGHT**

**by Soledad**

Disclaimer:

The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.

Rating: PG, I guess

**Author's notes:**

The end of this story surprised even me – it was not intended to happen. But it always works best when I let my own characters take over control, so I didn't fight it – even if this means that I'd have to make certain corrections in my Glorfindel-story later.

Many thanks to Altariel Artanis who allowed me to use the beautiful blessing at the end. I chose to make it a tradition of Valinor, so you might find it in later stories as well.

**EPILOGUE**

A full circle of the Sun had passed since the end of the war, yet Arda still was bleeding of thousand wounds. Seeing it was becoming unbearable, but at least the trial was slowly coming to its end. Eönwë had spent the recent year of so-called peace travelling in Glorfindel's company around the rest of what once had been the western lands and speaking to Elves and Men, carrying to them the offer of the Valar. Some of them had followed his summoning, but many of them had not.

The Silvan Elves flatly refused to leave their beloved trees, even if they shed many bitter tears over the perishing the oldest and most beautiful forests of Middle-earth. Their Kings, Amdír of Laurelindórinan and Oropher of Emyn Galen (one of the few nobles who escaped from Doriath) surrounded themselves with icy silence, and very few of their people were willing to leave.

''They are bound to this Earth'', Glorfindel explained quietly, ''more than any one else of our kin. And though they feared and hated Morgoth, they cannot forgive us that our war caused the great forests to perish. They wish not to go away, for the Sea calls them not, and they feel betrayed by us as well as by the Lords of the West.''

Galadriel, too, refused to return, but that surprised Eönwë not. She had always been the most proud and headstrong of Finarfin's children, and her pride could not bear to admit how wrong she had been. _And_ she was bound to Celeborn with the deepest bond of mutual love. Celeborn was not willling, nor able to leave Middle-earth yet (if ever), so Galadriel chose to stay with him, even though she had little chance to found her own, strong kingdom east of the Sea as she had dreamed of once.

And Celebrimbor, last and lonely descendant of Fëanor, wanted not to return to Aman, either.

''I cannot find there again what once had been and then was lost'', he answered to Eönwë's offer. ''For the Two Trees are no more and the Light of Valinor shall never be the same it was in my childhood. Here, at least, I can see its far-away shimmer high above on the sky. _And_ the debts of my family to Middle-earth are yet to be payed. I cannot do much; but I am willing to help re-build some of what my family helped to destroy.''

''You had no guilt in that'', Glorfindel intervened gently. ''You were but a child during the first Kinslaying in Alqualondë, and you turned your back on your father and uncles before the other ones.''

''True'', Celebrimbor stared at his own bare arms (for they had found him in his workshop, and the sleeves of his rough working garb were rolled up), as if he still could see the blood stains of their murdered cousins where his father's hand had once grabbed him; ''yet the blood of the slain still burns my flesh like fire. I know not what I can do to redeem for my forefathers – surely not nearly enough – but I offered my hands to the High King, and as long as he has use of them, I shall remain.''

''That might take a long time yet'', Eönwë warned him, ''and you are much older than Gil-galad. The fading will hit you earlier.''

''It matters not'', replied Celebrimbor flatly; ''for are we not cursed by all means, I and my whole kin? What punishment fate ever holds for me, I am willing to accept. Mayhap this way I can have the blood of the innocent wiped from my hands one day.''

It distressed Eönwë greatly that he could not persuade the only truly innocent member of Fëanor's family to go with him, but Glorfindel cautioned him not to press matters. So they finished their long journey, coming back to the newly-slashed Golf of Lhún, where Círdan and his remaining people had already established their new, twin havens they named Mithlond, and were now busily building new ships in order to bring the surviving rest of the Atani to their new home, the green island of Elenna.

Inglor moved to Forlindon, to the feet of the norhern chains of Ered Luin – there, upon the southern slopes, facing the Golf and the Grey Havens, the High King intended to build his new city: a white tower of many levels, carved into the living rock of the mountains. Inglor, who had inherited his father's skills in stone-carving and learnt by the best masters in Aman, offered his help, and together with Celebrimbor and some of his fellow master-smiths they vere carefully planning out the magnificent work they were about to do. They wanted the new city to be worthy of Nargothrond and Gondolin, even if they had lesser means to bouild it.

Elrond had accompanied Eönwë and Glorfindel on their travels, and was now about to move to Gil-galad's court as well. For the first time since the revolt of the Noldor in Aman, all three branches of the once so great and proud Finwëan tree were reunited, under the rule of Fingolfin's House.

''If naught else, this horrible war at least achieved to end the kintwist'', commented Glorfindel with a sad smile. ''I hoped no more that it could be done at all.''

''For how long?'', Eönwë asked tiredly. ''And remember, Galadriel joined young Gil-galad's court not. She went out to find her own kingdom… once again. How come that she cannot learn from her own mistakes?''

''Pride and arrogance'', Glorfindiel said thoughtfully, ''have always been the pitfalls of the Finwëans. But at least she has Celeborn now to take care of her – and Celeborn is wiser than most would believe. I am certain that he is more than able to keep her on the right path. For there is great love between the two of them – a love that matters more to her than her own pride; and one day it will matter to him more than Middle-earth itself. Even if it will take him a very long time.''

''Foresight, my friend?'', Eönwë smiled. Glorfindel shook his golden head.

''Nay, my Lord. Experience. I know what such love feels like. It consumes body and heart and soul – even now, that I have been clad in new flesh, it bonds me to my oath I had sworn in another life.''

Eönwë gave him a curious look.

''Is then your _hröa_ not the same one it used to be? I was told that Elves return from Mandos' Halls as the same person.''

''The same we might be, yet not unchanged'', Glorfindel said. ''Not everything that flesh remembers will be kept when we are restored. We still know what happened to our old shell, but some of the memories are but fading images. I know not of the others, but I know that I am… estranged from that old Glorfindel from the House of the Golden Flower who fell together with the Balrog from the cliff of Crissaegrim.''

''I understand not'', Eönwë frowned. ''Then you are _not_ the same person, after all?''

''You cannot _ever_ understand this, my Lord'', Glorfindel replied a little sadly, ''for you only wear your shell like a robe. But we are _one_ with our _hröa_, and though the new flesh in which we are clad is very much like the old used to be, at least to the naked eye, tis our spirit that remembers; the memories of flesh are lost. The Glorfindel who fought the Balrog had died, was buried and grieved over. I _do_ remember the flame of Udún that scorched my body of old, but not the way someone who still is in his first shell would.''

''What of love?'', Eönwë asked. ''What of your bond to Idril Celebrindal? Does it still exist?''

''I still have the feelings'', Glorfindel replied, ''but not the desire I once felt. This new _hröa_ is removed from the passion of the old one. Tis… strange. There are times when I feel not like myself at all. But mayhap tis different with the others. I have been changed, ere I was sent back to Middle-earth with you; the others are not.''

''You are almost one of my own kin now'', Eönwë agreed, ''save that you still have the passion of the incarnates in you. Mayhap this new shell of yours needs its own memories to feel like your own again.''

Glorfindel looked at him with an all-knowing smile. During all those years spent on Eönwë's side, he had learnt to interpret the Maia's sometimes veiled words.

''That might be'', he said, ''though I am still learning to live with it. Is there aught _you_ would want of me, my Lord?''

''I know not'', Eönwë admitted in dismay. ''I have been fighting this _fana_(1) I am wearing for over forty years like a wild beast that would not be tamed. It has a fire on its own that fights my spirit in every moment.''

''You have begun to bond with your own incarnation'', Glorfindel stated with a smile. ''For an Elf, you still would be but a child, depending on his elders' guidance – no wonder you feel disturbed, an ancient spirit trapped in such a young body. Tis indeed high time you get back home – for, unless you would intend to remain in your shell permanently, the burden would become too much for you.''

''It already has'', Eönwë murmured. ''How I long for the peace of Mandos' Halls! How can you bear this burden, all of you?''

''We are born that way'', Glorfindel laughed. ''We know naught else – unless we die as I did. And, as I already said, our _hröa_ is more than a mere shell for us. Unlike you, we _are_ our _hröa_ – that is what makes rebirth so difficult.''

''So when I have shed this form, there will be naught left from the years I had spent in it?'', Eönwë asked. Glorfindel gave him a helpless shrug.

''I truly cannot say, my Lord. We still are very different beings. But I do believe that you shall still have your memories – faded away, like detached images of the mind, I deem.'' He gave the Maia an inquisitive glance. ''Is that not what you hope for?''

''I do hope to become… detached from the horrors of war, 'tis true'', Eönwë nodded; ''yet I wish not to forget _you_. The sound of your voice that guided me through the twisted path of such an unusually long incarnation… how your touch on my face felt when I wept in grief over the bleeding wounds of Arda… these memories are dear and cheerished for me, and I would regret to lose them. For despite all its terrors, this was the first time since the forming of Arda that I have not been alone.''

Their eyes met and the mental link that had been slowly forming between the two of them opened for a moment – long enough for Glorfindel to read what had not been said.

''I cannot go back with you, my Lord, not yet'', he said quietly. ''Not as long as Elrond wants to remain there; for Elros had made his choice and therefore is lost for our kin already. I must stay and protect the only child of Idril I still can.''

''I know that'', Eönwë said, ''and I ask you not to break your word, even if it has been given in another life. But when you _do_ return to Aman… can you offer me aught to wait for?''

''I wish I could'', Glorfindel replied honestly, ''for indeed, I have been changed enough to make room in my heart for a different kind of devotion. But even though I would readily burn in your fire, my Lord, once you have shed this form, all that will remain would be fading images for you, I fear.''

''Then we shall wait til we can be reunited in Aman'', Eönwë half said, half asked. ''When I have been healed and taken on a new form as well. After that, the memories will not fade, will they?''

''I know not!'', Glorfindel sighed in despair. ''For despite all the changes I went through, we still _are_ very different – and _you_ shall not be the same once you had taken on a new form from the untainted flesh of the Blessed Realm. Who can say if you still _would_ want to remember at all?''

''_I can_'', Eönwë reached out, hesitating, and laid his palm on the Elf's cheek. ''I, too, have been changed during these years, and the changes marked not my _fana_ only but my very spirit as well. The bond that has formed between the two of us during the war is one of the spirits, my friend, therefore it will remain even in Mandos' Halls. I want you to return to me, after your labours in Middle-earth have ended.''

Glorfindel closed his eyes for a moment. The incredibility of that request made him shiver. This was even more unheard-of than the bond between Melian and Elwë – for he had become more than Elwë could have ever hoped for, and Eönwë offered him more than a shared life as incarnates in Middle-earth. The mightiest of the Maiar offered him to share the spiritual bond known only between Ainur to exist.

''Then I shall do as I am asked'', he promised softly, opening his eyes again, just to be blinded by the first true smile of a Maia he had seen since they had left Aman to go to war. It broke through Eönwë's physical form with the sheer force of pure lightning. The Maia seemed to grow, though Glorfindel knew well it was but an illusion, as if his outer shell were about to break up and let his unrestrained spirit free.

''Nay, my Lord'', he warned, ''you cannot let go, not yet! You have to keep your shape as long as you are here. This Earth cannot bear any more bashing from your unleashed powers.''

''I know'', Eönwë willed back the sheer fire of his spirit. '''Tis even harder to hold back longing than to hold back wrath, that is all. I shall not harm what of Middle-earth is still whole.''

''We should say our farewells now, while you still can restrain your powers'', Glorfindel offered uncertainly. Eönwë nodded.

''We should'', he agreed. ''Give me then something to remember while I wait in Mandos' for your return. For it seems to me that I shall have to wait for a very long time – even as _we_ count it.''

''Take of me what reminder you ever want'', Glorfindel replied, and at that Eönwë leaned forward and and gently placed his lips on the Elf's, barely touching – yet it felt like liquid fire running through his whole body.

Glorfindel stood perfectly still, though the brief contact had shaken his soul to its very ground.

_I would readily burn in your fire, my Lord_, he had told Eönwë mere moments ago – now he understood fully the ramifications of this promise. Were they ever to be reunited, he _would_ burn, indeed, even in his new, enhanced form. Yet he regretted not to have made that promise, nor did he intend to back off.

''I have to leave you know, my Lord'', he murmured, taking a careful step back when the burning had become too much; ''for there is much for me still to do. But when my work here is done, I shall return to you.''

''And I shall be waiting'', Eönwë, too, stepped back and let him go, holding his physical form together by sheer willpower – it had become increasingly difficult already lately, and letting the fire of his spirit burn freely, even if only for a moment, made it not easier. ''Go now, my friend, my golden flower, as long as I can still let you go. _Nólë Ilúvataro tiruva tielya oialë_''(2), he added the traditional blessing.

Glorfindel bowed, and after a long moment – in which their eyes met and their spirits merged like gold in living fire – he left, not knowing that it would take them two full Ages to be finally reunited.

Here endeth this tale

* * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) Corporeal form (or so I hope). 

(2) Wisdom of God shall guard your path everlastingly – a blessing created by Altariel Artanis.

Ah, and many thanks to Aredhel the White Lady for pointing out some of my very silly mistakes!


End file.
